What Am I Supposed to Do?
by V. Laike
Summary: He keeps the box of worn cassette tapes on the floor of the passenger side foot well. Post-"No Rest for the Wicked."


It's been a while, hasn't it? I thought Musey up and left me. But a few days ago, she handed me this while I was washing the dishes. She's aquatic like that.

Thanks to my sounding boards: Izhilzha, Kalquessa, Ficwriter1966, Kerravonsen, and Sarcasticval.

Disclaimer: Kripke and Co. created the Boys. I just have them over to do odd jobs around the house.

Warning: Post-"No Rest for the Wicked." Spoiler Warnings are in effect.

* * *

"What Am I Supposed to Do?"

by

V. Laike

He keeps the box of worn cassette tapes on the floor of the passenger side foot well.

There are two fully charged cell phones in the glove compartment, along with the box containing neatly organized fake IDs. He can call the voice mail if he's had one too many and needs to hear his brother's voice.

His fingers dial in on the classic rock stations more often than not, of their own volition; the music is both painfully soothing and soothingly painful. He'll listen to the newer stuff, but only if it rocks. He bypasses the other crap—the bubble gum pop, the country, the hip-hop, the alternative emo—as he scans the dial. Unless he runs across Johnny Cash or Elvis Presley. It might surprise some people—people who didn't know him—but his brother never skipped past the Man in Black, and his impression of The King was so friggin' hilarious it would bring tears to your eyes.

He tries creating his own aliases—Joseph Campbell, Raymond Stantz, Carter Beauford—but they never feel quite right. They're not "Ford and Hamill," "Landis and Dante," "Bachman and Turner." No one's there to share the joke.

Somehow he feels a connection with "Johnny Van Zant."

He requests single rooms now, but still orders two meals. The first, he eats. The second, after sitting, waiting for someone to claim it, gets bagged and taken back to the motel, usually ends up as a feast for any stray—animal or human—who looks in need of it.

He leaves the bookmark for BustyAsianBeauties . com, along with a handful of other porn sites, on his computer. He cracked the passwords once, just to see if he could. He renews the platinum membership with the last fake credit card his brother used, even though he'll never visit the site again.

His computer's desktop screensaver rotates between a picture of Jess, one of the Grand Canyon, a snapshot of his four-year-old brother holding his infant self, and half a dozen rock band logos.

The weapons cache is compulsively well organized, and he strips and cleans the contents with the care and precision of a Marine's son. But he stashes the gun oil next to the leather jacket in the hopes that the jacket never loses the scent of his brother.

One day, he's at a garage sale, following a lead on a cursed trinket box. While sifting through some old tapes, he finds an unopened Eagles cassette. With a grin he turns to show it to someone, but the someone who would be most excited by the find—the man who would flash that childlike grin as if he'd hit the jackpot in Vegas—isn't there, of course. He buys the cassette for fifty cents.

He doesn't find the trinket box.

He wears the amulet tucked under his shirts, close to his heart. He never knew exactly what it was supposed to do, why it was special when he gave it as a gift. There is no question as to why it was special after, or why it's special now.

He wears the silver ring when he goes out to the bars. He orders his beer in unopened bottles, and if the waitress forgets, he sends it back**. **He needs the practice, because he never had his brother's skill when it came to using jewelry as a kitchen implement.

He keeps in touch with Bobby, and he takes the Impala to South Dakota when it's in need of maintenance. He learned the hard way not to trust anyone but himself and Bobby with the care of his wheels. He's only now starting to call the car "baby," like his brother used to.

Every time he stops at Bobby's, he pores over the stacks of books piled around the house. There's no trickster to trap this time, no way to turn back the clock. But he knows who holds his brother, and he knows she's scared of him. He's going to get his brother back, healthy and whole and _Dean_. He's going to get his brother back, or he's going to die trying.

_finis_


End file.
